by Ciara Knight
Thelma waved Carissa toward her bag. “Take what you need from my supplies, even though I don’t think you should be providing aid to the enemy.”
Drew removed his sock, sending gray wool lint onto the floor. “I’m not the enemy. I’m here to help.”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing that you want this to work out.” Carissa sat in the chair by his side and analyzed his toe. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything else in there. Oh, wait. I do see something.” She retrieved a needle and tweezers from the bag. “This might hurt a little, but you need to get this out.”
“I guess we did get off on the wrong foot, and I apologize for that.” He held out his hand. “Miss Carissa Donahue, I’m Drew Lancaster, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Carissa eyed his hand suspiciously but decided there was no way around pleasantries if they were going to be working together. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lancaster.”
“Drew. You can call me Drew.” He wiggled under the needle when she dug a little deeper. “I can get this out later. Right now, I need to go meet the town elders. I think I need to make a better impression on the old people than I did on you.”
“The what?” Davey spun like a Tasmanian devil with eyes as dark as a bat’s. “Old? I ain’t too old to tar and southernize you!”
Chapter Five
Carissa knelt in front of Drew, tending to his wound. She had a gentle touch, and despite the needle pricking his toe, he found her more agreeable than earlier. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have her flock of friends around. “Thank you for your help, but you haven’t answered my question. What was the geriatric gang chanting about?”
“Shh. Don’t let them hear you call them that.” The needle went in deeper, and he swore she did it on purpose. He winced, but she sat back and analyzed his toe, giving him room to breathe.
“It was a threat based on an old town legend.” Carissa’s hair floated like an unruly lioness mane around her face, but at least she wore a pullover sweater so there were no mismatched buttons.
“What kind of legend?” he asked, finding himself enjoying the distraction from the crazy mayor he had to deal with, the ridiculous project he’d been assigned, and his assistant’s overbearing ways.
“It says that about eighty years ago, a man was accused of chopping down his wife’s perfect maple tree that her grandfather had planted. She was so mad that she demanded he be arrested for spousal abuse.”
“For cutting down a tree?” Drew rubbed his forehead, trying to process the madness.
She lit up like the first lights of Christmas on Rodeo Drive. “Oh, yes. We take maple extremely seriously in our town. After about a month of the sheriff dealing with various domestic calls, putting him in a cell for the night, where the man’s snoring drove him insane, he decided to end the feud and went to speak to the wife.”
He was thankful when Carissa finally got the splinter out, wiped his toe with the alcohol wipe, and bandaged the wound. She was like a pretty but disheveled Florence Nightingale. “So, what did the sheriff do to the woman?”
“The woman? Oh no, that’s not who was tarred and southernized.” She handed him his sock and sat in the chair by his side.
He wanted to reach up and brush the hair from her eyes that she didn’t seem to notice but decided not to, proving Lori wrong about his OCD. “Really? I’m confused.”
“You’re not southern.” She crumpled up the trash and tossed it into a bag at his side instead of the trash can where it belonged, but he didn’t say anything.
“No, I’m not.” Drew slid his foot into his sock but kept his ankle resting on his other knee.
“Well, the sheriff wouldn’t keep him anymore, and it was getting too cold to sleep outside. He’d slept on all the couches of all the people in town who would have him, but his snoring was apparently so bad no one else would take him in.”
“So much for southern hospitality,” he teased.
She laughed, a cute, simple laugh that didn’t hurt his ears. It was musical.
“There are limits to hospitality, even in Sugar Maple. Anyway, he decided he wanted to go home, but she said she didn’t believe he was sorry. The town wouldn’t take him, his wife wouldn’t take him, so he decided to make her believe his apology and did it southern style.”
“He tarred and feathered himself?”
“No. Not exactly.” She waved her hands in front of her face, causing her shirt to shift out of place under her sweater, but she didn’t notice. “He covered himself in maple syrup and leaves then stood outside of their home where the tree had been.”
“That’s how he apologized?”
“Sort of. That’s where the southernized portion comes in. He handwrote a note on each leaf. I shall not cut down any trees. I will do the dishes for six weeks. I will drink sweet tea and like it. I will never hurt my wife again. I will always be a southern gentleman. There were dozens upon dozens of leaves on him.”
“That’s insane. Why would any man degrade himself in such a way?” He’d heard men do absurd things to win a girl before, but that was on an entirely new level.
“Because he loved her.” She looked up at him. Her beautiful blue eyes were something he could photograph and sell to the world.
The geriatric gang snickered and pointed over their way. “Told ya he’s a sissy. Needed to be doctored for a little splinter.” Davey said loud and clear.
Carissa sat up on her knees and scooped up a box from the floor. “Legend has it that they renewed their vows two weeks later and they never fought again.”
“Sounds like a small-town myth to me.” The way she shoved her hair behind her shoulders and tossed the box in the large trash can told him she didn’t agree with his observation.
“Well, believe what you want. I need to get back to work.”
He hopped up and offered his hand to her, but she stood on her own. “Thanks for the doctoring.”
“Sure. No problem.” She grabbed her coat and hat. “Help yourself if you want something. Thelma would appreciate you taking away some temptation before the residents of the Sugar and Spice Home return on a sugar high.” She left her chair out and headed for the door. “Never mind. I forgot you don’t eat sugar.”
“Don’t eat sugar?” Davey shouted. “Don’t trust a man who don’t eat sugar. Told you he was a sissy.”
“Be nice, Davey. Remember, we insult people with kindness around here.” Carissa stopped in the doorway. “If you’re hungry, they have a great chef salad at Maple Table.”
“Really?”
Davey slapped his knees and rolled with laughter. “Told you!”
Carissa grinned with an inside-joke smile and disappeared into the entryway.
Fine, if these people wanted to make a joke out of him, he didn’t care.
He headed for the stairs, but at the bottom step he realized that he had a job to do. A job that would get him out of Knox Brevard’s team and onto a real project. Fine, he’d swallow his pride. He about faced and marched to where Carissa was snugging her hat down onto her head, which made the ends of her hair staticky and rise like horns in her back.
“Listen, why don’t I take you to dinner tonight to discuss what changes can be made to your desserts to make them more visibly appealing? I can pick you up in an hour.”
“No thanks.” Carissa opened the door and took the steps two at a time.
“Wait. What do you mean, no?” He raced outside after her. The cold bit at his nose and toes.
“I’m busy.”
Apparently he needed to turn up the charm to make up for his less than southern ways. “Too busy to eat? I mean, I’d like to take you to a nice restaurant.”
She approached him with a gleam in her eye. There, he had her now.
“Are you asking me out on a date, Drew Lancaster?”
He glanced at the window above the center, where he caught Lori staring down at them before she shut the curtains. Fine, he’d prove he wasn’t all work and no play. “Yes, I’d like
to take you out tonight.”
Carissa leaned into him and tilted her head to one side as if reading his thoughts. “You have the wrong girl. Now I know for sure you should work with my dear old friend Jacqueline. But for now, I’ll meet with your assistant tomorrow morning at eight. Until then, Mr. Lancaster, have a pleasant evening.”
He stood there in the cold, watching Carissa walk across the town square until his feet were number than his thoughts. Dang… Did he just get rejected by a girl he would never want to date in the first place? He hightailed it inside, where he found the geriatric gang laughing at him. But he didn’t stop, not until he was in the office facing Lori. “This is your fault.”
She slid her glasses down her nose and peered over them. “Ah, I see.”
“No, you don’t. But you will when you have to meet with that woman tomorrow morning. That’s when you’ll realize this project is the dumbest idea Knox has ever concocted.”
“No.” Lori set her laptop down on the table and sat forward.
“What do you mean, no?” Drew went to the radiator and held his hands out to the metal contraption.
“We have a deal. You need to attend the meeting, and you need to take Carissa Donahue on a few dates.”
“No way.” He touched the radiator, but it was cold again. “Enough of this place. We need to cut our losses and tell Knox this is not happening.”
“You won’t or you can’t because she turned you down?”
He huffed, eyeing the bake shop through the window. “She only did that to make a point.”
“What point is that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s southern. I don’t get these people. Besides, you chose wrong. I’ll give you a shot to change your mind. I mean, there’s no way in this godforsaken town that I would ever fall for a woman like that. She’s too…too—”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect? Ha! Do you know she left trash out, and that hair! It is everywhere. It’s as if she doesn’t even notice things are a mess around her.”
“As I said, she’s perfect for you. I stand by my choice. You get her to go out with you and you don’t fall in love with her, then I’ll call my father. That’s it.”
“This is insane and wrong. I won’t make a bet about a woman.”
She stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her pants like a normal person would. “Why, Drew Lancaster, I think you’ve finally met your romantic match. I think you’re scared you can’t win her over with your quick wit and charm. For once, Drew can’t rely on his sexy smile and good looks. This woman doesn’t fall for the visual attractiveness but on truth of something.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“Think about it. She’s a baker. She cares about the smell and taste. You’re a movie and TV guy who only cares about the appearance of things. You don’t stand a chance. You’re all looks and no substance.”
Lori snagged her purse and headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
She slung the strap over her arm but didn’t stop her movement. “I’m going to my room at the inn. The nice room these townspeople gave us in order to make us feel at home. You can continue to hide up here for now, or you can come enjoy some down time by the warm fire and work in the parlor.”
“I don’t have time for that.” Drew huffed. “I need to go meet with the geriatric gang downstairs.”
Lori paused and glanced over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t lead with that.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know.” He ran his hands through his hair and let out a long, deep, calming breath.
“You sure about that? From what I hear, you need to get those people downstairs on our side, or when Knox arrives, you won’t have a show to present at all.” Lori clomped down the stairs, and he followed close behind, determined to show those people downstairs the upside to their proposal.
At the bottom of the steps, he caught sight of Davey two stepping with one of the ladies. Drew straightened his collar and checked his hair in the mirror hanging on the wall. It couldn’t be that difficult to convince some old people to sign off on a project that would benefit the town they loved. This was the easiest sale ever.
Yet his stomach knotted with warning like it did when they would enter a new city, not knowing who was friendly and who was the enemy.
The song finished blaring over the crackling speakers, so Drew took his opportunity and marched to the center of the room. “Sir, since you are obviously the man in this town who makes all the important decisions, I’d like to request a meeting with you. Perhaps I could take you to dinner this evening to discuss the benefits of this project and how it will stir new life into this great little town.”
Davey adjusted his cap as if he was at the start of a race. “I don’t have time for a dinner meeting. Have your people call my people to set up an appointment. I have an opening sometime next month, I think.”
Davey snugged his cap down and headed for the door. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough dancing for one evening.” And as if he had control over the rest of the gang and employees, they all followed his lead.
He’d seen enough unassuming children and elderly masking deadly weapons to know Davey wasn’t just an innocent old man. He was carrying a vest full of explosives, and Drew was his main target.
Chapter Six
“I knew I’d find you already baking.” Stella rolled in with a sprinkling of snow. “What time did you start?”
Carissa closed the display case and wiped her hands on her dish towel strung through her apron. “Four.” She wasn’t in the mood for an inquisition, but she knew Stella meant well.
“That’s all you’ve baked since four?” Stella hovered over the case, looking down at the selection. “Ah…what’s that?”
“It’s a cupcake with almond-flavor frosting.” She eyed the so-called masterpiece she’d spent hours perfecting.
“I mean those things sprinkled on top.” Stella pointed as if a rat who died mid nibble sat on top.
“Those are edible sugar pearls.” Carissa slid the tie from her hair and removed her apron but kept a rag tight in her hands, glad to have a minute to rest and collect herself before her meeting with Lori.
“It looks so…weddingish.” Stella’s nose squished like she was allergic to the word. Not that Carissa was a fan either.
She studied her creation; had she missed the mark? “Yes, but it’s pretty and will photograph well.”
The heat cut on with a blast of warmth that could melt any frosting. Stella glanced at the vent with the I’ve-got-to-fix-that lip press. But obviously deciding the task at hand took precedence, she walked around the cupcake, analyzing it from all corners. “Who says?”
“Several articles about top pastry chefs had this exact cupcake shown.” Carissa collapsed into a chair. “Why? Is it not pretty enough?”
Stella sat across from her. She didn’t take Carissa’s hand the way Felicia would or pat her shoulder like Ms. Horton, but she sat by her side, which was a big deal for Stella. The girl couldn’t bond with a puppy without cringing away from it a hundred and two times first. “Listen, it’s beautiful, but it isn’t you. Can’t you make something that’s pretty that is more you? We want you to win, but not if you have to sell your soul to Hollywood.”
The heat cut out. Stella crunched her face with determination to return later to defeat that darn radiator issue. Like most things in Sugar Maple, the radiator was ancient but comforting.
The wind outside whistled through the crack above the front door, sending a chill into the room. “This isn’t about me. It’s about winning this show for the town. I think this is what they want for their show.” Carissa rubbed her temples, trying to relieve the tension.
Stella patted the table next to her hand. “You’re not alone. We all have your back. As much as the town needs this, we all need you more. Don’t be something you’re not to win this. Let the world see Carissa Donahue as the angel she is to all of us. You are the sweetest, most giving pe
rson I know. Show that.”
“Are you Felicia dressed as Stella?” Carissa asked, easing her death grip on the poor defenseless hand towel.
Stella did her breath-out-of-the-side-of-her-mouth thing she did when she was uncomfortable sharing sentiment with someone. “Please, you know you’re an angel. You stayed here after high school to help me. Don’t think I didn’t know. I’m just glad you managed to fix this old place up and make it your own, or I would’ve felt guilty for the rest of my life.”
“I didn’t have anywhere to go. This is my home.” Carissa never wanted Stella to feel responsible for her choices. They were her own. Yes, maybe she made them out of love for a friend, but she was more than just a friend. She was better than family because she stayed after everyone else had left her. “You didn’t abandon me either, remember? When you were offered the apprenticeship at that fancy car repair place in Nashville, you turned it down to stay here. I knew you wanted to get out of this town.”
“I couldn’t leave. We were rebuilding this place.” Stella pointed at the exposed wood beams overhead and the antique display case she’d helped repair. “And it’s perfect. It’s you.”
“We’ll call it even, then.” Carissa patted her fingers before Stella pulled away and stood, shoving both hands safely in her pocket.
The old clock that was a gift from Felicia on opening day of her bakery chimed with warning. “I need to finish up. Lori will be here any minute.”
“I’ll get out of your way, then.” Stella paused. “Um, did you get a chance to make the maple bacon donuts this morning?”
“I’m afraid not. I promise, I’ll bring you some this afternoon.” Carissa wiped down the tables and straightened the chairs, deciding it was time to face the Knox brigade coming to criticize her baked goods.
“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll be out at the Hendrix farm repairing a tractor this afternoon.”
“Hey, at least you have business.” Carissa pointed to the empty bistro chairs.
